


The Chaser (Greed)

by Janina



Series: Seven Deadly Sins - Jonsa [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Crazy!Jon, Dark!Jon, Death, Do not read if you do not like the idea of a major character death, F/M, Faustus Like, Minor Character Death, Satan - Freeform, or Jon losing his shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-15 01:06:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11795244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janina/pseuds/Janina
Summary: Jon meets Daemon, a friendly shop owner and he's allowed three wishes. He learns you should be careful what you wish for.





	The Chaser (Greed)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I don't want to hear complaining if you don't like how this goes! I warned you in the tags that this is dark!
> 
> Thank you bluecichlid and vivilove for your help!!

_"It's true! Yes, I have been ill, very ill! But why do you say I have lost control of my mind, why do you say that I am mad? Can you not see that I have full control of my mind?”_ ~ The Tell-Tale Heart, Edgar Allen Poe

 _“It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call the Twilight Zone.”_ ~ The Twilight Zone opening

 

Jon Snow was restless. 

When he’d imagined graduating from White Harbor University at the top of his class with an MFA in English under the Professional Writing track, he’d really thought the path to success in journalism would be easier. He had been in charge of the whole goddamn University paper after all. One of his articles had even been published in a magazine. 

Yet, The Wintertown Gazette, a publication alongside such newspapers as _The Boston Globe, The New York Times_ , and _The Washington Post_ put him on obits. 

_Obituaries._

What the hell? 

His mother told him that sometimes you have to pay your dues and to just keep doing what he was doing and get some experience. He had his foot in the door, he just needed to bide his time. Good things came to those who wait after all. 

So, Jon did the best damn obituaries he could churn out. And he kept his eyes and ears open for openings. On the side, he worked on his novel – a sci-fi/fantasy story involving magic, witches, and political intrigue. When his best friend, Sam Tarly, asked him if there were any dragons in it too, Jon had scoffed. “I’m not putting bloody dragons in my story.” 

So, while Jon wasn’t exactly happy, he was hopeful. He had his eye on the prize and he was confident in himself. He would get what he wanted in time. He’d becoming the award-winning journalist he wanted to be, he’d write an incredible novel beloved by millions, and he’d one day meet Anderson Cooper. 

And then one day he met her. 

She’d knocked into him, literally, at the coffee shop around the corner from where he worked. He’d been standing in line, patiently waiting for his turn to order when he was pushed forward from behind. He turned and Jon felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him. She was beautiful. Gorgeous. Long auburn hair, big blue eyes, pink lush lips, alabaster skin, long lashes, and a svelte body currently contained in boots, black pants, and a purple turtleneck. He couldn’t see the turtleneck really for she wore a long belted jacket over it. 

“Oh, I’m sorry!” she burst out. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” 

“It’s okay, really,” he said softly. Had the heavens opened up? Was she an angel fallen from the sky? She certainly looked and sounded like one. 

“Good thing you didn’t have a coffee in your hand, right?” she said with smile. “Or me, right?”

He nodded, his mind racing as he tried to think of something to say. He was coming up empty and a flicker of something passed over her face and Jon knew all too well what it was: he’d made her uncomfortable by just staring at her like some kind of creeper.

Jon was confident in his abilities as a writer, but not with women. That was something he had never been able to shake. 

“I’ve never seen you here before,” he blurted out. And then winced. 

“Did you just give me the ‘come here often?’ line?” she asked with a smile.

Jon nodded, raking a hand through his black curls. “I’m afraid I did. But in all fairness, I do come here every morning before work and I really have seen most of these people.” He pointed to a guy with shoulder length hair in line. “That’s Edd. Nice guy. Orders a black coffee, but only asks them to fill it halfway so he can fill the rest with cream. He puts a ton of sugar in it too.” He pointed to a woman with luxurious red hair in a red pants suit and said, “That’s Mel. She works in the financial district as a financial consultant and I hear she only takes on male clients.”

“Okay, but now that feels like a challenge,” she said. 

Jon laughed. “How so?”

“I want to ask her if she’ll handle my finances and see what she says.”

Jon grinned. “I dare you.”

She laughed. “All right. But that means you have to buy me a coffee.”

“You’re on. I’m Jon by the way. Jon Snow.” He held out his hand and she took it firmly. He felt a surge of electricity rush up his arm at her touch and he hoped to God she felt it too. “Sansa Stark,” she said. 

“All right,” she said and straightened her coat. “Here I go.”

She marched off with determination and Jon laughed softly as he watched her. 

He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he watched them with great interest. The conversation didn’t last long, and then they were shaking hands and Sansa walked back to him. 

“So you’re right,” she said, keeping her voice low. “She denied me, but asked if I had an older brother.”

Jon laughed. “Wow.”

“No kidding.”

“I owe you a coffee, Sansa Stark.”

She smiled. “You do.”

They got in line together and Jon learned she was a buyer for the successful clothing boutique his mother loved called The Caged Bird. She lived in the center of Wintertown and did most of her work out of her apartment, but once in a while she got to go to various fashion shows and make purchases. 

When they each got their coffees, Sansa thanked him profusely before they parted ways. 

He was in love, that much Jon was sure of. In the twenty minutes he had spent in Sansa’s Stark presence, Jon Snow was completely, helplessly, in love with her. 

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” a raspy jovial-sounding voice said, jarring Jon out of his thoughts of Sansa. 

He looked up and spied an older man dressed in crisp black pants, a black dress shirt, and a red bow tie standing in front of a shop. His eyes were a deep brown, almost black, and he had black hair cropped short to his head. He had laugh lines around his eyes and mouth and a handlebar mustache. 

Jon blinked and turned his head toward the shop sign: _Ye Olde Curiosities_. What an odd and old-fashioned name. “Antiques?” Jon asked, pointing to the narrow shop front. The windows were sparkling in the sunlight, but Jon couldn’t see anything inside. 

“Sure,” the old man said and smiled. “Do you have time to come in?”

“I don’t,” Jon said apologetically. 

“Well, I hope you can come back and visit sometime. I could help you find what you’re looking for.”

“How do you know I’m looking for anything?” Jon asked. 

The man’s smile was enigmatic. “We’re all looking for something, aren’t we?”

Jon fought the urge to roll his eyes. Wow. How deep. How profound. Jon tilted his head, wordlessly saying “good day” and continued on. 

xxxxxxxx

Every day for the next two weeks, Jon met Sansa at the coffee shop. They stood in line together and chit-chatted about their jobs, their lives, and every day things. 

Jon learned she had a big family – four other siblings, one of them, her older brother Robb, was running for selectman for Wintertown. Jon immediately thought how fantastic it would be to interview him for the paper, but he would not ask that. He didn’t want Sansa to think he was using her and her family to advance his career. He wanted her too much for his own for that. 

Fucking hell, how he wanted her. Everything he learned about her he wrote down in his moleskin. Was that creepy? Obsessive? Maybe. Jon didn’t care. 

She was just so goddamned beautiful and sweet. When he told her about the book he was writing, she asked if she could read some of it. He gave her a few pages and then they made plans to meet early the next morning so she could give him her thoughts. 

She was smart as a whip, and unlike when Sam gave him advice on his writing, Jon actually listened to Sansa and took notes on what she told him. 

And every day he passed by the _Ye Old Curiosities_ and wondered what was inside. Sometimes, the owner would be standing in the doorway when he passed and would wave to him with a big smile, always all in black, always with that red bowtie. 

Jon would self-consciously wave and then duck his head and be on his way. 

And then one day, he wasn’t sure what made him stop inside, but he did. The shop owner was so pleased, he wore a big beaming smile and stepped aside to let Jon in. 

It did appear to be an antique shop, with books lining a few of the walls. It smelled musty and old, but something about it made Jon feel at home. He picked up a knick-knack here and there, a glass bowl he imagined once held candy and then a small, weathered wooden box caught his eye. 

He picked it up and noticed it didn’t open in the traditional way, but rather had to be opened by sliding the top to the side. It smelled like Sulphur inside and Jon found he rather liked the smell. 

Jon inspected the box, smoothing his finger over a knot here and a knot there. When he looked up at the shop owner, he found the other man smiling at him in an odd sort of way. “How much is it?” Jon asked. 

The shop owner just smiled. “What do you wish for, young man?”

“Pardon?”

“That box there will take three wishes. You write them out one at a time and slip them inside. One by one you’ll find your wishes coming true.”

He was nuts, right? That was the only thing that made sense to Jon. The guy was off his rocker. He put the box down and left quickly. 

Jon thought about the incident in that shop every day. Three wishes in a box. Was he some kind of genie? No. He was fucking nuts was what he was. 

But then Jon found himself wondering what he’d even wish for. 

The answers to that came quickly: he’d wish to land his dream job, to become the renowned journalist he’d always wanted to be, and he’d wish for Sansa to love him as he loved her. 

Then, one afternoon, one of the top journalists for the Gazette was leaving and they wanted to fill the position as soon as possible. The journalist who took the job needed to be politically aware, be willing to travel, and be able to churn out a story quickly. 

There was no doubt that Jon was going to apply to it. He just needed to write something amazing for the deadline. And he also knew that he was going to have strong competition, particularly one journalist, Tormund Giantsbane, who had been angling for that job for a while. As confident as Jon was in his ability to do this, he was also a little nervous. What if he couldn’t? What if he failed?

He immediately thought of Sansa and her brother Robb. 

And he thought of that box. 

Three wishes. This could be his first. Funny wasn’t it? He had wanted this opportunity, and had thought he would wish for it if he was stupid enough to actually believe in a magic box, and now here the job had presented itself…

He went to _Ye Olde Curiosities_ over the weekend. 

He stepped inside the shop and the shop owner smiled at him. “Come to get that box?” he asked. 

Jon shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and narrowed his eyes. “What is this place, really?” he asked. “Who are you? How can a box grant me three wishes? _What are you?_ ”

“What am I? I’m a lot of things, but if I had to whittle the list down, I would say I’m a helper. I help people.”

“What’s your name?” Jon asked. 

“Daemon.”

“And how can that box grant me three wishes?”

Daemon just laughed softly. “Why don’t you try it, my boy? Just try it. Put in one wish. I’ll even give you some paper and a pen.”

Jon’s mouth went dry. Was he really going to do this?

“Tell me, what will you wish for?” Daemon asked. 

“I have to tell you?”

“Well, it might help to narrow it down a little.”

Jon cleared his throat. “There’s a job I want. Badly.”

“Perfect,” Daemon said with a grin. “What else?”

“I want to be a successful at the job. I want people to love my work,” Jon said. 

“Excellent! What else?”

“I want…” Jon swallowed hard. “I’d like for the woman I love to love me back.”

Daemon broke into a wide smile. “Wonderful. Let’s start with the job then, yes?”

Jon nodded. “Sure.”

“And then after the first wish comes true, put in the second. Then after the second comes true—”

“I put in the third,” Jon finished. 

Daemon smiled broadly. “Yes. I’ll grab that paper and pen now.”

Jon watched Daemon head to the front where the cash register was and fumble with some papers. Jon looked down at the box. Was he really going to do this? Was he really going to write a wish on a piece of paper and put it in a box and expect it to be granted?

Daemon came back and handed him a piece of parchment paper and a red pen. Jon hunched over on the table with the box and other odd things and wrote his wish for the job. 

He slipped it in the box, shut it, and let out a sigh. “Did I really just do that?”

“You did,” Daemon said with a smile. “Now remember, you must wait until this wish comes true before you make your next one.”

Jon nodded and handed the pen over. “How much do I owe you for the box?”

“Nothing. This one is on the house.”

“Really? Why?”

Daemon smiled. “My pleasure comes in helping people. That’s all the payment I need.”

Jon thought it odd, but he wasn’t going to argue. He liked free things. He picked up the box. “Thanks, Daemon.”

“Come see me any time if you have any questions.”

Jon waved. “Will do.”

And he left, hoping he hadn’t just made a complete arse of himself. 

xxxxxxxx

Come Monday morning, when Jon and Sansa met before work at the coffee shop, Jon told her about the job he was going for. 

“Jon, that’s amazing!” she exclaimed and gave him a hug that he just wanted to sink into. “I know you’ll get it. What do you have to do to apply?”

“Well, I want to submit a story for it,” he told her. “Something they maybe could publish if they wanted. But I want to show them what I can do, and I want it fresh and new, not something I’ve written for the school newspaper, ya know?”

“What can I do to help?”

Jon bit his lip. “Well…there is one thing maybe but I don’t want to ask.”

“No, tell me. What is it?”

“Could I interview your brother?” he asked sheepishly. 

Instead of getting angry by that as Jon feared, she broke into a wide smile and fished her phone out of her purse. “He owes me. He’ll do it. Don’t you worry.” And then she wandered off to call her brother while Jon got in line and ordered them both their coffees. He knew exactly what Sansa wanted by now: French Vanilla coffee with cream and sugar and a lemon pastry. 

He sat down at one of the tables in the corner to wait for her and when she returned, she was beaming. “He’ll do it.”

Jon let out a whoop and jumped up to hug her. God, he loved this woman! 

xxxxxxxxxxx

Tormund Giantsbane died on the day of his interview. 

The Gazette went into mourning. Tormund Giantsbane was well liked by everyone on The Gazette and though he had been Jon’s biggest competitor for the job, Jon had admired the man and respected him. 

The other candidates were strong, but it was Jon’s interview with Robb Stark that cinched it for him. And, after seeing the piece that Tormund had written, Jon knew without a doubt that he would have gotten it instead. 

That night after work, Jon found himself at _Ye Olde Curiosities_. 

Daemon smiled as though he’d been expecting as he stood behind the cash register. Jon walked up to him and asked point-blank, “Did my wish kill Tormund?”

Daemon tilted his head to the side. “Who?”

“My competition for the job. Did he die because of my wish?”

Daemon smiled and shook his head. “No, Jon, he didn’t die because you made a wish. People die. It’s the way of the world.”

Jon wasn’t sure he believed him, but he wanted to. Thinking he had a hand in Tormund’s death…he couldn’t deal with that. So, he chose to believe that it was just a random event he’d nothing to do with. 

“How does it feel to have the job of your dreams?” Daemon asked. 

Jon smiled. “Unreal.”

Daemon nodded. “That’s the thing about granted wishes. They have a tendency to feel that way Unreal. As if you’ve manipulated the fabric of reality. But you deserved the job, and you’ve worked hard for it, so how could it not be real, right Jon?”

Jon looked at him, thinking his comment odd. “Yes, I did work hard for it.” 

“You may make your second wish now.”

Jon mumbled his thanks and left, and only as he was putting in his second wish that he would be successful at his job, did he realize he had never told Daemon his name. 

xxxxxxxxxx

**Two Months Later**

Jon had his dream job. His articles were on the front page and he was gaining the attention of other popular and important publications. He traveled often, too much sometimes, but he met people both at home and abroad, made connections, and had shot up the ranks as a respected journalist. 

He made friends left and right. His pay raise had garnered him a swanky place in the center of Wintertown, and when he returned home he invited his new friends over for parties. 

And, of course, that meant getting in touch with Sansa, and inviting her too. 

One such evening, after a long trip abroad, Jon found himself standing outside on the balcony of his new digs and feeling rather…alone. He turned to watch the party rage on inside through the glass doors and felt something missing. 

And then Sansa appeared through the throng and Jon realized what it was that was missing: Sansa. He’d missed her terribly. She was looking right at him, like some kind of beacon, and he waved back and smiled. 

His smile fell, though, when a blond came up beside her and offered her his arm. She smiled up at him and pointed at Jon, saying something that caused the other man to nod and look Jon’s way. 

Jon watched them weave through the crowd of bodies and make their way outside. Jon sized the blond up. He was handsome, dammit. Blond curls, blue eyes, and a dimpled smile. 

“Jon, you’re back!” Sansa exclaimed and walked right up to him to engulf him in her arms. Jon hugged her back, inhaling her sweet scent and enjoying the feel of her in his arms. 

“I want you to meet Aegon,” she said when their embrace ended. She looked at the blond. “Aegon, this is Jon. Jon, this is Aegon Targaryen.”

Aegon held out his and Jon took it, barely bothering to meet the man’s eyes. Aegon shook his hand when the shake was over. “Quite a grip you got there,” he said with a laugh. 

“You haven’t gotten anything to drink yet,” Jon said with a fake smile. “Aegon, let me tell you where the kitchen is so you can get Sansa and yourself a drink while she and I catch up.”

Aegon darted a glance at Sansa and Jon and then nodded slowly. “Okay, sure.”

After Aegon departed, armed with directions to the kitchen, Jon turned to Sansa and smiled. “How’s my girl?”

She smiled prettily and blushed a little. “I’m really well, Jon. How are you? Will you be home for a while now?”

Jon nodded. “I’ve got my new assignments that will happily keep me home for a good long while.”

“Excellent. I’ve missed my coffee shop buddy.”

“How long have you and Aegon been dating?” he asked, hoping he sounded somewhat casual. 

“About a month. The last time you were home I didn’t get a chance to tell you about him, but…yeah.”

Jon nodded, wondering if he was imagining the guilt on her face. “I waited too long,” he said hoarsely. 

Her eyes went wide. “Jon—”

A group of people came bursting out onto the balcony and Jon only knew one of them. This sometimes happened. No, more than sometimes. It happened a lot. People took advantage of him and just invited who they wanted to tag along with them. Last party he had, he caught people doing coke in his bedroom. During another party, a group had been tossing green olives off his balcony at people down below. Sam didn’t even come anymore and Sam had always been his one true friend. 

And now Sansa was dating someone. 

No wonder he felt alone. 

Aegon returned a minute later and while Jon went to break up whatever the group outside was planning on doing, Sansa and Aegon wandered off and he never did get to catch up to her again that night. 

Later that night, or more apt, that morning with the sun beginning to break over the horizon, Jon stared at his completely trashed penthouse. There was food on the carpet, drinks spilled on the furniture, empty plates everywhere along with bottles of liquor and confetti strewn all about. No one had even offered to help him clean him up. 

Sansa would have. But she’d left long before everyone else had. Because sane people left at a reasonable hour, not at nearly five a.m. 

He thought of Aegon touching Sansa. Kissing her. Holding. Making love to her. An unholy rage built up inside him and he roared as he swiped a table clean of beer bottles. They crashed to the floor and he roared again. 

Stomping to his bedroom, he got the wooden box from the back of his closet, hidden under a pile of blankets on a shelf, and pulled it down. He went to the kitchen, found a piece of paper in one of his junk drawers along with a pen, and wrote out his wish for Sansa to love him back. 

He paused, holding the paper just over the open box and considered this.

He had not done this sooner because he had been busy with his job. He hadn’t had time to devote to Sansa, and he had thought that now that he was as successful as he’d always wanted to be, she would just….

Yeah, he’d thought she would just fall into his arms. He had money, a name, and connections. He thought once he’d settled into his new life, he would just be able say he was ready for her and she would say she had been waiting for him all this time. 

But no. That was not how it had worked out at all. Had she felt anything for him at all? Ever? Or did she just think of him as her coffee shop buddy? 

Thinking again of Aegon touching Sansa, Jon put the paper in the box, slammed it shut, and went to his bedroom. 

xxxxxxxxxx

For the next two days Sansa wasn’t at the coffee shop in the morning. He sent her texts she didn’t respond to. He called and she didn’t answer. 

He was starting to lose faith. Had he waited too long between wishes? Should he have done it sooner? He’d give her one more day and then he was going to _Ye Olde Curiosities_ and demand Daemon help him again. 

And then on the third day, she was there, waiting for him outside. It was cold out, too. Winter was leaving, but it was taking its time. Her cheeks were red, and her nose was pink. 

“Why didn’t you wait for me inside?” he asked. “And where have you been?”

She bit her lip. “I broke up with Aegon.”

Yes! 

“Why?” he asked. 

She looked up at him searchingly. “What you said…about waiting too long? It got in my head. I couldn’t stop thinking about it and I…I realized that he was just a place-filler and the one I really wanted to be with was you.” She looked down, shifted on her feet. “That is, if you want me…”

Jon put his hand under her chin, his heart beating rapidly. He felt himself falling into her blue depths. “I want you, Sansa. I’ve wanted you for so long. I’ve just been too afraid – and then too busy – to tell you.”

She beamed at him and then lurched forward and kissed him. 

Jon’s heart soared and he kissed her back with all the heat and longing that had been building for months. When the kiss broke, he gathered her in close, smiling when he heard her giggling. "What are you laughing about?” he asked softly in her ear. 

She pulled back to look at him, brushing some of his curls from his face. “It just feels unreal, ya know? Realizing what you wanted was there all along.”

Unreal…unreal…

_“That’s the thing about granted wishes. They have a tendency to feel that way Unreal. As if you’ve manipulated the fabric of reality…”_

Had he manipulated reality very much this time? Or did he just give it a shove? 

“But it is real,” he said aloud. 

She smiled. “I know. And I’m so happy.”

So was he. He shoved any unsettled feeling away and focused on Sansa. 

He had his dream job. He was gaining fame for his articles every day, and now he had Sansa. 

His life was complete. 

xxxxxxxx

“How’s it feel to go from writing obits to having articles everyone chomps at the bit to read?” Sam asked over lunch one afternoon a few days later. 

Jon grinned and looked out window of the fancy restaurant he had asked Sam to meet him at. He could see all of Wintertown from here. “It feels like the world is my oyster,” he said. 

He was busy during the day, that was for sure, but he got to eat in swanky places like this, and people wanted to know who Jon Snow was. He was being interviewed left and right for his amazing articles and there was even talk of becoming one of People’s Sexiest Men Alive.

And the cherry on top, the one that made him the happiest of all, was Sansa. He got her to come home to at night. She spent more time with him at his place than at hers, and he especially loved those nights when she would be waiting for him in their bed, beckoning him to her with her arms held open. 

She was his greatest champion, and with her he didn’t feel so restless. Certainly didn’t feel the need to throw lavish parties anymore. She calmed him. Made him feel at peace.

She loved him. He couldn’t get over that fact. She _loved_ him. And she took care of him so well. She made sure he ate and slept and she showered him with affection. 

Life was pretty fucking fantastic. 

“It must feel pretty unreal I bet,” Sam said. 

Jon snapped his head to Sam. “What did you say?”

Sam’s forkful of pasta paused halfway to his mouth. He put it back down on his plate. “I said it must feel pretty unreal. What’s wrong? Did I say something wrong?”

Jon shook his head. “No, no, everything’s fine. I think I’m just tired…”

Sam changed the subject to a woman, Gilly, whom he’d met through a dating app and Jon focused on that and not on the fact that he felt a bit off kilter after Sam’s comment. 

xxxxxxxxx

A few days after his lunch with Sam, Jon met with his editor to go over the piece he’d been working on and after a few minutes of reading it, Davos Seaworth let out a low whistle and said, “Jon, your writing is unreal.”

Unreal. That word again. What the fuck was going on? Why did people keep fucking saying that?! 

Later that night, after he and Sansa had made love, he’d rolled off of her, sweaty and sated and she curled up into his side, grinning. “That was unreal,” she murmured. 

“What?” he snapped, sitting up and looking down at her. 

She looked startled. “I said that was amazing. What did you think I said?”

He stared at her. “You said amazing? Not unreal?”

She blinked. “Yeah. I said amazing. Jon, you okay?”

He nodded and lay back down, gathering her close. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Just a little stressed.”

She caressed the side of his face tenderly. “You work too hard. Do you get some time off? Maybe we should take a trip, hmmm?”

Jon smiled. He liked the sound of that. “Where would you like to go, love?”

“Anywhere. Just as long as you are with me.”

Overwhelmed with love for her, Jon rolled back onto her and proceeded to make love to her again. She was right. He was just working a lot and stressed. Hearing “unreal” meant nothing. Nothing at all. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Two days later it happened again. He’d been out buying beer at the local liquor store when the clerk behind the counter said, “That shit is unreal.”

Jon looked up at him. “What?”

“I said that shit is the tits,” the clerk said, and then told him the price. 

Unreal. Unreal. Unreal. 

Why did he keep hearing that word? And now he was hearing it even when no one said it? 

_“That’s the thing about granted wishes. They have a tendency to feel that way Unreal. As if you’ve manipulated the fabric of reality….”_

Why was this coming up for him now? Why was this a thing that was happening? Did the box have some kind of side effect? Or was this just his mind coming up with problems because everything was going well and he had no cause for complaint? He had the job, the fame he wanted, and the woman of his dreams. 

And it was real, dammit. He got that job because he worked hard for it. What happened to Tormund had just been a freak accident. It wasn’t because of a wish. His fame was because he was a fucking good writer. Those things were inevitable and bound to happen. Those wishes had just upped the timeline, gave fate a push. 

What was it Daemon had said when Jon had told him he’d gotten the job? _“But you deserved the job, and you’ve worked hard for it, so how could it not be real, right Jon?”_

But the wish for Sansa… had that been inevitable? He hadn’t really worked all that hard to get her considering he’d never told her how he felt until she was already dating someone else. 

Fucking hell. He needed to stop this. He was fucking losing it. 

He tucked the bag of beer under his arm and trudged home, knowing that Sansa was waiting for him. 

“I just think it’s not real…”

Jon stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and eyed the people passing by him. Who had said that? 

“Hey buddy, you wanna get a move on?” someone behind him grumbled. 

“Sorry,” Jon said and started on his way again. 

“Fucking unreal,” the guy muttered behind him. 

Jon whipped around and gasped. Tormund. 

“You got a problem?” Tormund asked, his eyes black and his skin pale, making his red hair look like a flame of fire. 

Jon squeezed his eyes shut tight. 

“Get a move on, freak!”

Jon opened his eyes and found himself looking at…not Tormund. It was not Tormund. 

Jon whipped back around and kept his head down. 

“How is any of this real?” someone said as they passed by him. 

_“That’s the thing about granted wishes. They have a tendency to feel that way Unreal. As if you’ve manipulated the fabric of reality…”_

When it was time to cross the street, he looked up and saw Tormund again. He waved. People passed in front of him, and then he was gone. 

Jon blinked rapidly. 

This wasn’t real. 

Shit. Now _he_ was thinking it. 

Jon finally made it home, shutting the door and locking it. He pressed his back against the door and pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. 

Sansa was singing in the kitchen and heaved a sigh, smiling at the sound. He was home. He was with Sansa. He was with his woman. He was all right now. Everything was fine. 

When he got to the kitchen, he found her pulling out a roast. She beamed at him as she placed it on the counter. “Hello, my love,” she greeted him. 

He smiled at her. “Hello, sweetheart. Smells good.”

She popped the lid off the roasting pan and inhaled deeply, a rapturous look on her face. “It smells unreal.”

“What?” he demanded. 

She looked at him oddly. “I said it smells wonderful. Don’t you think?”

Jon nodded. He was losing it because he was so fucking focused on hearing it. His mind was playing tricks on him that was all. It was like that movie with Jim Carey when he kept seeing the number 23 everywhere. It was like when you got a Jeep and started seeing Jeeps everywhere. It meant nothing; it just meant he was hyper-aware of that word. To the point that he was losing his mind and hearing it everywhere. 

“Jon, sweetie? You okay?” Sansa asked as she came over to him. She touched the side of his face gently. “You look pale.”

He looked at her, at his beautiful Sansa, and asked hoarsely, “You love me, right?”

She smiled. “Of course I do.”

“When?” he asked desperately. “When did you know?”

She looked at him in confusion. “I told you, it was after the party you had when you said something to me about how you’d waited too long.”

“Do you know the exact time you realized it? Was it right away in that moment or after you left? The morning?”

She started to move away from him. “You’re acting weird—”

He shot a hand out and grabbed her arm. “When, Sansa? What time?”

“Jon, you’re hurting me!” she exclaimed. 

“I need to know what time you realized you wanted me, too!” he shouted and pulled her to him. 

She fought him, managing to break free. “I don’t know the time! Sometimes after I left and I could think about it!”

Tears stung his eyes. Late that night. Late. After he’d made the wish. 

“Jon, what is going on?” she exclaimed. 

He looked at her, tears slipping down his cheeks. “It’s not real,” he whispered. “You don’t really love me. It’s not real.”

He could live with the job. He could live with the fame. He was certain of his skills as a writer. He was a damn fine journalist. 

But this… 

But Sansa?

Could he live with her love being false? Could he live with her not truly loving him? 

“What do you love about me?” he asked hoarsely. 

“Why are you asking me such a thing?” she whispered. “Jon, you’re scaring me.”

He pulled her to him, framing her face in his hands. He kissed her, tears now streaming down her face, too. “Jon, what is it?” she whimpered. 

He couldn’t bear it. She didn’t love him. She didn’t really love him. She didn’t really want him the way he wanted her. It was all because of a wish.

“Did you ever think of me the way I thought about you?” he asked softly. “I wanted you that first day…did you want me too?”

She didn’t respond and a chill coursed through him. “Did you?” he asked harshly. 

“I was dating someone—”

He cried out and he applied pressure to her head. 

“Jon, stop!” she cried out and the fear was apparent in her eyes. She looked frantic. 

He felt…

Cold. 

Alone. 

This wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. 

He couldn’t live like this. He couldn’t stand to have her knowing she had never really wanted him. Knowing that it was all because of a wish. All because he’d changed the fabric of reality and made her wanting him his reality by making some goddamn wish in a box.

He’d rather not have her at all…at all…at all…

His hands slipped to her throat. 

And he started to squeeze. 

His heart shattered in his chest. He didn’t really have her. He never had. 

“Jon,” she gasped. 

She clawed at his fingers, trying to pry him off, but he wouldn’t let go. She kicked, she tried to scream. And still he squeezed while tears streamed down his face. 

“It wasn’t real,” he whispered, sobbing. “It wasn’t real…”

xxxxxxxx

He got rid of the body in the dead of the night. Sank her to the bottom of the river. 

When he returned home, cold and alone, Jon sat in the middle of his spacious living room and stared out at the landscape of Wintertown until the sun came up. 

xxxxxxxxxx

Two days later he started to see her. 

On street corners. Out of the corner of his eye at his apartment. At work. In crowds. 

She haunted him. And she spoke, too. A whisper that only he could hear: “It’s not real…”

He went to _Ye Olde Curiosities_ and felt himself break out in a cold sweat when he got to the spot it was supposed to be. All that was there was an alley that yawned before him, a dumpster in the distance. 

Sansa passed by it, pale and wan and dead. 

It was only a matter of time until the cops came knocking on his door. Sansa was with them, just behind them and their scowls and frowns. 

Jon burst into tears. “I did it,” he whispered. “I killed her.”

He knew how crazy it was going to sound, how three wishes and a wooden box had brought such destruction upon him, but it was the only story he could tell. 

But he had to wonder…

Was it real?

xxxxxxxxxx

On the other side of the country, Daemon watched as a young woman came in his store and went straight for the wooden box.

And he smiled.


End file.
